


keep it for your own

by adjourn



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shota Connor, but it's a bit more prominent than i would usually make it soo ya, if you choose to read it like that, which i feel is a tag implicit in this ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjourn/pseuds/adjourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take now thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep it for your own

**Author's Note:**

> bible quotes are best taken out of context (haha the quote kinda makes sense in context of game canon...fuck that)  
> idk i didn't even try with exposition or even foreplay it's just them fucking  
> enjoy

"A-ah," Connor whimpers as Haytham enters him, a slow push that makes tears prick at the corners of his eyes. When Haytham bottoms out, Connor shivers, rubs his wrists together to feel the rough texture of the rope. It keeps him grounded, slightly; it at least keeps the dizzying thought of how _full_ he is, how wonderfully consumed, from overwhelming him completely.

"You're fine, aren't you?" Haytham murmurs into the crook of his neck. "Beautiful boy. You're alright."

"Fine," Connor repeats, dazed. He feels hot and flushed all over, and the spot where Haytham's lips touched his skin burns. The rope isn't helping much now, not with the addition of Haytham's voice; the vibrations spread throughout his body, a velvet current of warmth. "I am fine, Father. Please, I..."

"Yes, my dear boy?" A steady hand slides up and down his ribcage. It's a reassuring touch, a patient one, but it only serves to make him more restless. He shifts slightly, squirms on his father's cock.

"Please, ah, please...I'm ready."

"You'll have to be more specific than that, I'm afraid." Haytham presses a nearly chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Use your words, Connor. Go on."

His face flushes red with embarrassment, but still he pleads, "I am ready for you, Father. Please fuck me. Please, I need you."

Haytham sighs fondly. "You're asking so nicely, my boy; how can I deny you? How can I deny you when you're like this—split open by my cock, blushing, asking me so politely to fuck you?"

"Please, Father," says Connor. "I just want to be good for you."

"And you have been. You've been very good," Haytham assures him. Although the strip of cloth tied around Connor's eyes obscures his vision, he can hear the smile in his father's voice. The praise makes him preen. "You deserve a reward, sweet boy."

"Yes, please," he whines. And he exhales as Haytham withdraws, then pushes in deep and achingly slow—he repeats this several times before Connor moans, calls out, "Faster" and Haytham chuckles at his neediness.

"What do we say?"

"Please, Father. Please, fuck me faster," Connor gasps. "I want your cock. I need it, please."

"There's a good boy," Haytham says smugly.

He begins fucking Connor in earnest now, and lifts one of Connor's legs back, nearly above his head, for a better angle. Connor whimpers in time with each of Haytham thrusts, his awareness fading until only his father and the wondrous feeling of their connected bodies are left. The rest of the world is a faint hum in comparison to the vivid sensation of Haytham's cock pushing in and out, rhythmically brushing past a spot that makes white dance across his vision. Connor's own cock is wet, leaking at the tip and pooling droplets of come on his lean stomach, and it bounces, pink and painfully stiff, with each thrust.

He begins to lose track of how long it's been, how long he's been crying out for his father and begging, "More, more, please." It seems like it might be that he's always been here, tied up and on his back, made to be used for Haytham's pleasure—or at least he was always meant to be. He is young still, and the world is large, but in that enchanting, eternal moment he wishes that he could always be here with his father, filthy and possessed.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Haytham is saying. "My boy. Born for it, you were. Born for taking your father's cock. Born to be fucked, to be used. My boy, my dearest, sweet boy. All mine, you are. Such a good boy."

"Yes, Father," Connor moans."Yours. Your boy, a good boy."

"Beautiful boy. You're mine. I'll always have you, won't I? My plaything, my darling boy."

"Always," Connor says. And he means it.

Always, always, always.

**Author's Note:**

> i 100% read this as shota connor because i??? ?? because.


End file.
